Where have I been the past few weeks? Preparing for a big move! Yes, Real Life has caught me by the ankles and is currently dragging me away. It may be a little bit before I am back with any regularity, but I’m hoping for a short hiatus as opposed to a long one. It all just depends on when we get the net connection up. Which shouldn’t be too long. Fingers crossed!

I have played this game for nigh on 5 years now. Is it any surprise that I have a ton of alts? This is the story of my warlock Alsatia. She like… well… if Mary Poppins really had sinister intentions. But it’s not poor Aly’s fault she’s demented and evil! It runs in the family!!!

Family Traditions

“Pull the blanket tighter, Lavali. We don’t want any limbs sticking out. Good. Cover her well. All right, let’s lift her, over the back of the horse…”
It was a most undignified position, being draped over the back-end of a horse. An old, wobbly, flatulent horse at that. But in times of trouble, one takes what one can get.
“Do you see anything? Nothing? Right then, everyone, let’s be going. We don’t want to waste the darkness.”
*********************************************************************************
When Alsatia Pendleton was 10 years old, that small nugget of selfishness that all children have began to grow into something darker. It was the beginning of her power, and when her parents first saw it, they were endlessly proud.
“Aly, I want to talk to you about what I found in your room yesterday.”
She walked into the kitchen and saw her handiwork, her offerings, laid on the kitchen table.
She couldn’t read her father’s expression. His face a placid lake on a windless day.
“Did you do this?”
“Yes”
There was no point in lying. Her mother would have found them in her chest, under her night-clothes.
“What did you summon?”
“An imp, Father.”
“What’s it called.”
She shrugged, “I don’t know. I don’t care about their names. Only what they can do for me.”
He stifled a smile. “What did it do for you?”
“I sent it to burn down the York house.”
He nodded. “I see. I see.”
The York House had burnt to the ground three weeks before, killing everyone inside.
“Did it follow your instructions without a struggle?”
“I would have it no other way.”
Her father’s restrained smile broke into a broad grin. “Your mother will be so proud. She said you had the beginnings of a true demonologist in you, and here you are.”
Alsatia allowed herself to smile, a rare treat for her face. It was so nice to be able to make your parents proud by doing something you loved.
*******************************************************************
“Where are we taking her Father?”
“Deathknell.”
“Where?”
“Deathknell. It’s an encampment of Forsaken. They take the newly risen and train them into a useful profession, so that they may be able to take care of themselves and help in the war.”
“Why are we taking her there?”
Andrew Pendleton sighed. Honestly, you had to explain everything to this one.
“Because, Lavali, we are going to bury Alsatia in the soil of Deathknell so that she may rise again and rejoin our family.”
“I don’t understand.”
He put his face in his hand, “Scorchling, please. Stop asking questions.”
“I’m sorry.” She looked down at her feet, shuffling along the cobbles as they approached her sister’s birth place.
It took hours to dig the hole to Father’s satisfaction. First it was too shallow.
“Do you want your sister to wake up with a face full of mud?”
Then it was too deep.
“She will never claw her way out of that! Girls… really…”
Finally, it was just right.
“I suppose this is good enough.”
They couldn’t just dump her body in the hole, it had to be placed there, with reverence. Her books on her chest, a small spade to aid her release from the earth.
“Maybe we shouldn’t fill it…”
Andrew looked at his wife, “Louise, love, she needs to be encased in the foul earth of Deathknell if we want her brought back. She has her books, she has our letter. She will find us.”
She nodded, and smiled at her daughters, covered in dirt and sweat, holding shovels.
“All right, dears. You heard your father.”
And so, the three remaining daughters of Andrew and Louise Pendleton began to fill their sister’s grave while their parents watched with hopeful eyes. The girls would feel resentful, if they didn’t know their parents would be doing the same thing for them, and that Alsatia herself would be filling their grave with her trademark vigor.
The things one does for family.

Blizzard, thank you for doing the right thing, the SANE thing, the responsible thing. Thank you for taking the time to listen to your customer base. Thank you for giving me a good reason to pre-order the Cataclysm Collector’s Edition.

Dudes, I humbly apologize for the lack of Tales for Tuesday. Real Life has fallen on me with a splat, as a result, nothing last week.This week, however, I will begin a series of informative posts on getting ready for Cataclysm, and tomorrow I’ll start a series on coping with not getting in the Beta when clearly all your friends are there. (It’s ok, we’ll get through this together.)

So without further ado I give you:

Regatta’s Guide to Prepping for the Apocalypse

You and me, we’re gonna’ make it. We’re gonna’ survive this and go on to be stronger, smarter, well fed. Because we are prepared. As every End of the World kook knows, there are 3 major things you must do in order to survive the apocalypse. We’ll be adapting time tested Kook sensibilities for our situation.

Stockpile, stockpile, stockpile: Every good auction house hero knows that the best way to make money when an expansion is is coming is to clean out a few bank bags and fill them with low-level ore, herbs, gems, enchanting mats, cloth, and meat. If you don’t have a gathering profession (Regatta is a tailor and enchanter) then cloth will be your bread and butter. Stock up, and slowly release them in stacks of 20 (no one will buy one cloth stacks, that’s just dumb.) Be fair, and be plentiful. If you are an enchanter, make a bunch of low-level enchanting scrolls. If you’re a scribe, vellums and low-level glyphs. Even engineers can make money! Sell your low-level engineering parts! I know when leveling my engineer I always went on the AH to see if anyone was selling screws or what not, since I needed so many bits and bobs and didn’t have ore to spare.

Pick a Safe House: Find a good spot, out-of-the-way, to log off in, to hearth to. When Cataclysm hits, there will be insanity and you don’t want to be caught in that never-ending loop desperately trying to get to the hip new place to hang. Choose places that will remain unchanged by the event, but that have a flight path, repair service and a proper inn, after all, you want rested XP!

Don’t Split Up: Find your leveling partner/s, and make your plan of attack. If you have at least 2 leveling partners and a loose arrangement it’s best. That way you can all level with each other if you’re all on, or friend A can level with Friend B when you’re not on, or you can level with A or B if they’re on. If you have one solid leveling partner, like I do, when they’re not available, level up an alt!

Prepare for the Future: Raiding. You may be doing it, and your raid will likely be taking a break to allow folks to level and explore content. Look ahead to good raiding specs, sock away some good gems for your spec, put away some enchants, and save the gold.

If we all follow these simple guidelines, time-tested by kooks everywhere, we’re sure to survive this Cataclysm and come back stronger than ever. Godspeed my friends. Godspeed.

Like just about everyone, I have a Belf alt. She’s a paladin, and was meant to be my “beat the snot out of things” alt. Sadly, I don’t always get to beat the snot out of things, I often have to heal the snot out of things. The healing! I can not escape it! Anywhoodle, here’s a story about Tessere, my shady, recently reformed, Belf and her very different relationship with a notorious man-whore.

Strange Bedfellows

The sunlight glinted off of her armor. But not enough.
She dabbed a little more of the polishing wax onto the plate and rubbed it in with the soft cloth. Her arms ached with the effort, she polished everyday.
Dir demanded it of her, and though she complained loudly it was a task she took comfort in. She’d always had little rituals to give herself a feeling of calm and order in her very chaotic and disordered life, but there was something about the daily maintenance of her armor and weapons that was satisfying.
Not that she’d ever tell Dir that. Their relationship had changed into something entirely different since she’d first met him, but they still traded barbs and insults. Because they both were firm believers in tradition.
These days though, it was softer, and tempered with praise and genuine affection. He seemed to take a kind of pride in her accomplishments, and that pleased her. A true friendship had grown between them, and she appreciated that more than she would ever let on.
Around her the chapter house woke up. From the hall came the sound of softly closing doors, hushed greetings, the shuffling of slippered feet on stone. Then a soft knock on her door.
“I’m up.”
The door opened a crack and he walked in.
“That’s a good shine. For you.”
“I’m surprised you can see it with that ratty mane of yours hanging in your eyes.” She kept her eyes down, but grinned.
“I’ve heard tell that you’re quickly approaching your trial.”
“Yes. Not long now. I’m surprised how quickly it’s come.”
“I’m not. The thing about you Tess is that once you’ve decided to do something, it gets done, and quickly.”
“Then why was I such an awful assassin?”
“You’re not cold enough.”
She stood up, placed the now gleaming chest piece on its wooden stand and smoothed out her day robes. Then she finally looked at him.
“Sucker.”
They both grinned as he hung an arm across her shoulders, “Also? You’re a terrible shot. Seriously. I’ve never seen someone so bad with a knife, bow, and gun. Not a one of them could you get right.”
“You can do better? I’d love to see it.”
“Of course I can!”
“Well, who knew that instead of consulting with the most devious minds in Murder Row, I should’ve just come to you!”
“That should be your course of action for just about everything, dear. Just about everything.”
She covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her laughter as they walked out of the room. He pulled her door closed quietly with his free hand and complained about her hair and poor posture all the way down to breakfast.
*********************************************************************************
Her hair was shorter then. She was thinner, not as much muscle, all sinew and skin. Still, it wasn’t hard to turn a man’s head. Especially if those men happened to be three sheets to the wind. She could tell by his clothing, ostentatious, that he had more money than sense. She smirked to herself, and she took a moment to “arrange the merchandise” in a cracked mirror. She pinched her cheeks to coax rosiness from them and gave herself a saucy wink for confidence. She was not convinced. Oh well. She shrugged and made her way over to the bar, where quite a few ladies of the evening had begun to ply their wares. They glared at her as she approached and she grinned at them. No shame, no fear. That’s the only way to survive. He was holding court among the whores, but he treated them all as if they were the finest names from the most noble houses.
“I’m sorry, is this seat taken?” She attempted to look as innocent and gamine as possible. She was successful only at the gamine part.
“Hey there little thing…*hic*” He spun around on his stool, trying for “suave” and achieving “seasick walrus”.
He grinned broadly at her, head lolling, eyes crossing. Dir Shiningsky made a great first impression.
She lowered her gaze and glanced back up briefly covering a smile with her hand. She’d seen a few especially devious gold diggers pull that move off with grand results.
Under normal circumstance (read: with a completely sober target) Tess’ display of dainty femininity would’ve looked awkward, but with a thoroughly besotted target, it worked wonders. It wasn’t long before they were up in his rooms, ending a particularly lackluster but still entertaining (if only because it was funny as hell to watch him struggle to keep both his consciousness and his balance) “lovemaking” session.
A few vigorous thrusts, a grunt or two, and he’d rolled off and was asleep as his head hit the pillow. His snores echoing loudly off the walls.
Tess lifted his arm and let it drop, limply, onto the bed. He was completely out, and would be for some time.
She got dressed, and took her time rifling through his belongings, taking gold, silver, some nice looking jewelry, anything that could fetch a decent price and wasn’t bolted down to the floor. She even stole one of his bags, filling it to bursting.
“Lovely thighs you have m’dear…”
Tess froze as he mumbled something else about an “ample bosom”, let loose a snort and rolled over. She frowned and looked down at her less than ample bosom. It looked like she might have to spend some of her new-found wealth on a priest to cure her of whatever venereal disease he had no doubt given her.
She narrowed her eyes at his still sleeping form and walked over to the pile of clothes on the floor. She picked them up and stuffed them in the bag as well.
Carrying the overflowing bag in one hand and a pair of finely tooled men’s leather shoes in the other, she walked out into the bright sunlight of Booty Bay.
***********************************************************************************************************************
“…and that’s why you really should stop wearing the color yellow.”
“I will take that under advisement.”
“Good girl. Here, you need to eat more, you’ve got to build some muscle up.”
He placed a plate overflowing with food in front of her.
“Eat up. Every scrap! That’s your chore for today. Putting meat on your bones.”
She smiled, picked up her fork and set about completing her task.

Interested in Tess and Dir’s second meeting? Head on over to my bff irl’s blog: http://shadedpath.wordpress.com/ She is the player of Dir, as well as his two sisters and thoroughly entertaining.

And vacation is over. It was good, it was exhausting, it was super fun. But I’m glad to be home. This is the final bit of this particular Zuckerman tale. Only 2 chunks have been left out, as they were written by others. Should I receive permission to re-post them, I will put them back in in the right spots. As you can tell, it was written AGES ago, before Burning Crusade hit! Does anyone else have fond memories of 3 hour Scholo and endless Strath runs? Ahhh the good ol’ days!

Zuckerman the Famous Pig Part 2:

Regatta had never felt such an odd combination of emotions before. She was upset that her pig had gone and hurt someone, she was embarrassed that someone was her friend. She was a little scared that he had proven to be that violent, and, for the first time since her brother Danny had held her down and spit into her hair, she felt angry. True, real anger.
“I’m awful sorry Raga. I didn’t even know he had left.”
“I have never seen a pig stalk anything before. It’s just not right.”
“No. No it’s not.”
Regatta stood up and started to walk back to The Drag.
She hoped this was a one time event.
Maybe Zuckerman was just feeling… stir crazy. Maybe he just needed to get out, and his feral piggy instincts took over and that’s why he bit Raga and stole her hat.
These, of course, were just things she told herself to keep from running in the other direction when she saw him, curled up in his pile of hay, snoring and drooling.
****************************
She’s asleep again.
That cow escaped and tipped her off.
But that’s ok.
I have bigger fish to fry.
********************
Sometimes, Doras really loved his job. He got to sit on top of the wind rider tower and look out over a sleeping Orgrimmar. It was peaceful. So peaceful, that he had almost forgotten all about that weird pig incident last night.
*snort*
Doras closed his eyes.
“There’s not a pig, there’s not a pig, there’s not a pig..”
He opened them.
*sigh*
“There’s a pig.”
Said pig, grunted in agreement.
“Where you off to now?”
Through a series of grunts, squeals, and nose points, the pig made his destination known.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be paying this time?”
The pig peed on him in answer.
“Right. Of course not.”
The pig hoped up onto the back of the wind rider and took up the reins in his teeth.
*squeal*
The wind rider took flight, with the pig holding on for dear life.
Doras took a moment to hope the pig would fall off. Preferably over a large body of water.
He’d heard pigs couldn’t swim.
Doras sighed, and reached into his pack.
He pulled out a rather large bottle of Booty Bay Rum.
“100% Debilitating!” The label screamed.
Doras liked the sound of that.
He yanked the cork out, and took a swig.
It wasn’t long before he was, indeed, 100% debilitated.

“He looks harmless to me.”
Wynne looked at the sleeping Zuckerman.
“I’m sure you look pretty harmless too. But he brought this home last night.”
Regatta opened up the piece of fabric to reveal what could only be some poor Elf’s ear.
“Good for him!”
Regatta glared at Wynne.
“Wynne, I don’t want him hurting people.”
“Why not?”
“Well…. because… because it’s not right. And because priests shouldn’t have vicious attack animals.”
“Why not?”
“Because they shouldn’t. Besides, are you forgetting that he attacked Raga?”
“That’s true. He does seem to attack anyone doesn’t he?”
“That’s why I need your help Wynne. He goes out while I’m sleeping. You need to help me keep watch.”
“I can do that!”
“You have to stay sober.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Wynne!!! You have to try.”
“I promise to attempt to try to stay sober.”
Regatta smiles.
“Thanks Wynne. I know it’s asking a lot.”
“Yeah. It is. but I’ll help you anyway.”
Wynne broke into a big grin.
*****************************
She thinks that she and her friend will be able to keep me here. But I know how she is. She could fall asleep with cannons going off. She’ll be asleep in no time.
And her friend smells like a dwarf.
No. It won’t be long before I can go about my business.
I just have to be patient and bide my time…..
*****************************************
It took 20 minutes for Regatta to fall asleep.
Wynne, who was very drunk when she arrived, was completely drunk about 5 minutes after Regatta started to snore.
10 minutes after that, she hiccupped, shook her finger at the pig, and fell over in a heap.
Zigtal, who was sitting on the bed reading a newspaper, glanced over at the pig, then went back to reading.
******************************************
Doras was a nervous wreck. He just knew that damn pig would be back tonight.
Doras looked a wreck too. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he glanced around him nervously. His wife had remarked that he looked as though he had seen the Scourge.
“Not the Scourge. A pig. An evil, villainous pig.”
She looked back at him blankly.
“A pig.”
“Yes.”
She leaned in and sniffed him. She looked back at him with a raised eyebrow.
“You should lay off that Booty Bay Rum.”
“Kartha! There really is a pig!”
She turned back to her cooking.
“Mmmm hmm. I’m sure there is Doras.”
“There is!”
“Yes yes. I believe you.”
“You don’t.”
“No. I don’t.”
He sighed.
“Kartha… I’m not imagining this. Believe me, I want to.”
“Whatever you say dear.”
He didn’t like that Kartha didn’t believe him. But he really couldn’t blame her. It’s an odd thing to be afraid of a pig. It’s odder still to be afraid of said pig because he hops up onto a wind rider and heads off to Thrall knows where on a nightly basis.
As if on cue, there was a snort at his feet.
Doras whimpered and looked down.
“Off again are you?”
*snort*
“Well, what are you standing around looking at me for? You obviously don’t need my permission. Thrall knows you don’t pay for your rides.”
The pig snorted again, lifted his leg, and wiggled his privates at Doras. Then hopped up onto the wind rider.
Doras was still recovering from that strange display when the wind rider took off into the night, carrying a giggling pig on it’s back.
Doras sat down in a heap and began to rehearse his resignation speech.
“Kolck’Thar, Kartha and I are looking to start a little family away from the hustle and bustle of Orgrimmar. I’m thinking of becoming a fisherman. Grom’Gol maybe. I hear the fishing down there is pretty good. You should know this has absolutely nothing to do with pigs.”
“Yes. That sounds good.”
He took a long pull on his ever-present bottle of rum and waited for his shift to end.

The streets of Stratholme are not safe.
Unless you are an unassuming pig.
For reasons unknown to Zuckerman, he is able to walk by all the scourge unmolested.
This pleases him.
“They think I’m no threat. But they are quite mistaken.”
His hooves clatter on the cobbles, bouncing off the burning walls of the pubs, caressing the burnt corpses of townspeople, mingling with the falling embers.
Hidden under the grunts and gurgles of the rotting undead.
His hoofstpes, the sound of silent destruction.
His snorts, self-satisfaction.
Yes, Zuckerman was pleased with himself.
Quite pleased indeed.
He effortlessly waltzes by the lumbering abominations.
Unceremoniously stepping on the corpses of a fallen party of adventurers.
He breezes into the Baron’s stronghold, and faces him.
The Baron doesn’t notice him at first. He is wrapped up in looking imposing in case that party of hapless miscreants are stupid enough to rise and push forward.
A small snort pulls him out of his head, and into the present.
“What have we here?”
*snort*
“Interesting. I shall make you a meal for the Abominations, pig.”
*snort*
“You show no fear. I respect that. Come beast. Your end is nigh.”
*squeal*
The pig launches himself at the Baron’s face with a ferocity that seems quite uncommon coming from a pig.
He manages to hang on to the Baron’s lower lip, causing him to scream in anger and pain.
The pig, laughs.
Now, The Baron is used to fear. He’s used to false fearlessness, he’s used to the suicidal, he has even seen the truly fearless, once or twice.
However, he has never seen it in a pig.
And this disturbs him.
As adaptable as he is, The Baron is used to certain things, and he dislikes it when things do not fit into their proper places. If he were to think about it, he would find that he was the same way when he was alive.
This pig. Oh, this pig. This pig is not doing what a pig should be doing. Even if it had been trained by a skilled beastmaster, this pig is still not doing what a pig would do.
No. This pig is doing what a man would do.
And not a very sane man at that.
The fight, between the baron and this small strange pig is not an epic battle. no one will write odes to it, or carve great statues to remember it.
In fact, it’s not even really very messy.
When The Baron looses consciousness, it is simply because, in his confusion he falls from his horse and hits his head.
When he wakes, his only injuries are an extremely painful lower lip, and his bruised pride.
He is left wiser however.
He certainly will never underestimate a pig again.
Especially one who brazenly walks into his domain alone.
No. Those kinds of pigs he will be especially wary of.
******************************************
The two undead women stand over him. Staring in disbelief.
“Pants. He brought back pants this time.”
Wynne reaches for the pants and brings her hand back quickly when Zuckerman growls at her.
“They look like Magisters.”
“Did he mug some poor mage and steal his pants?!”
“Looks like it. You should sell them.”
“I’m not going to sell stolen pants Wynne! That’s so unseemly.”
“Why not? You don’t know who’s pants they are. For all you know, he might have found them on the side of the road.”
“Why would a perfectly good pair of pants be on the side of the road?”
“Well. It is hot out in these parts.”
“I’m going to make some signs and see if any Mage has recently lost their pants in a pig attack.”
“Oh! Can I draw the pictures?!”
“Why do we need pictures?”
“So they know what the pants look like. You can’t just put up signs that say ‘Hey, I found pants.’ People won’t know which pants you mean.”
“Do so many people lose pants to pig muggers that they’d need a picture?”
“I think so.”
Regatta shrugs.
“Ok. Here’s some parchment, let’s get to work.”
****************************************
A sign, posted on a wall in the Undercity reads:
“Mages! Have you recently lost your pants to a small pig with gray spots? Do they look like this? (see picture below)
Please contact Priestess Regatta for more details, and to be reunited with your bottoms.”
Below this is a crudely drawn picture of what may be a Troll.
He is not wearing any pants.

The mage never came to claim his pants.
Regatta stashed them in her vault at the bank just in case.
Besides, with the scourge invading, she really didn’t have time to think about half-naked mages and psychotic pigs.
Zuckerman, however, had endless pools of time. And a whole new way to make mischief.
*****************************
If I had known that she had access to that skunk Ferine… She’s a thousand times more valuable than I thought. I thought she only hung out with that stupid dancing orc, the drunken cow, and that flakey warlock. If I’d have known that she knew Ferine.. well.. this would’ve been much more enjoyable.
It’s a shame he recognizes me though. I’d have liked to have surprised him. Oh well. I don’t need the element of surprise to have an advantage here.
I just need persistance, and time. Both of which, I have plenty of.
******************************
The whole damn world had gone to hell, and Doras was lamenting that fact when the familiar squeal reached his ears.
“You know, there are a lot of important things going on right now Pig.”
The pig grunted in agreement.
“I mean, not just your weird little errands.”
The pig grunted in disagreement.
Doras had reached a point in his relationship with The Pig, where he felt the need to confirm his existence. His assistant, assigned once the wear and tear of the job started to show, was out fetching food, and would be back in moments. If Klak saw The Pig… well, then Doras wasn’t crazy. And if Doras wasn’t crazy, then he’d feel a hell of a lot better.
“Who do you belong to anyway?”
The pig felt that this was an overstepping of the bounds of their… “friendship” and bit him to show his disapproval.
But Doras, was prepared for that. He’d taken to wearing copper chain under his pants after the last bite got infected. He saw this as a defensive measure. Kartha saw it as a sure sign that he’d gone out of his mind.
“Ha! I was ready for that, Pig.”
The pig looked up at him and grinned. One of his front teeth had broken on the chain mail.
“Get on your way.”
The Pig snorted and hopped up onto the wind rider, then flew off into the night.
Doras sat there for a bit, stunned. It seemed.. well.. it looked like.. maybe The Pig saluted him, as he flew into the night…
****************************************
That Flight Master is getting smarter. I never expected him to wear mail under his clothes. I’ll have to find another way to subdue him. But for now, I’ll let him wallow in his false sense of security.
Tonight… I have other plans…
With every soul too busy fighting off the Scourge to notice me… the gates will be open.
And school, indeed, will be in session….

The Headmaster had just finished up some administrative red tape (running a school for necromancy is not all “raising the dead” and torture, you know.) apparently the Teacher’s Union was reviewing their contract and wanted more health insurance.
“What for? Most of you are dead!”
“What does it matter if we’re dead? What if we need it? Or how about our families?
“You killed them and ate them!!!!”
He glanced at the skull of a troll he had setting on a stack of papers, serving the purpose of, but not limited to, a paperweight. (In times of great irritation, he often threw it at one or another student who came in to ask for an extension.) He tried to remember who it had belonged to, and came up with nothing.
He grinned to himself and bent back over the large stack of term papers sitting on his desk.
“That damn elf… is it so hard to cast Power Word: Spell Check?”
*snort*
For a second, the Headmaster thought that he, himself, had snorted, and thought that it was quite unlike him to do anything of the sort.
*SNORT*
Louder and more insistent, the Headmaster looked over his desk and saw, sitting in the chair placed at just the right angle for supreme intimidation, a pig.
A rather ordinary looking pig at that, except for the bright yellow bow around his neck, which, strangely, was spattered with blood.
“What’s this now?”
He was startled when the pig jumped onto the desk to look him straight in the eye.
The Headmaster raised an eyebrow.
“Well pig, you certainly are bold. What brings you to me tod…”
The pig exploded in a fury of hoof and tooth. Piggy squeals were heard around the Scholomance. The students in the viewing room would all look toward the sound, and wonder what poor soul was asking for an extension on their term paper now. Whoever it was, was paying a terrible price… squealing and a high-pitched womanish wail wafted through the air. They went back to their studies.
The first thought the Headmaster had when the pig came at him was, that, this was not a pig. Or at least not your ordinary pig. The second thought was, “I should have ducked.”
He was attacked with such ferocity, such malice, he was almost in awe, or he would’ve been had he not been knocked upside the face with a furious pig. He batted at the pig and grabbed for purchase, but his hands found only the sharp teeth and an angry growl.
When the pig finally grew bored, he jumped down onto the Headmaster’s lap, and promptly urinated. Then he jumped off and trotted along on his merry way.
The Headmaster looked down at his lovely robes, then watched the pig gleefully trot out the door. He lifted a hand to his head where he felt several newly bald spots, and then he did something he never thought he’d do.
The Headmaster Gandling, cried.
*************************************************
Regatta turned the cowl over and over in her hands.
“He brought a Wildheart Cowl back with him?”
Raga looked confused, she stood in the doorway, as far from Zuckerman as possible.
“Yes, and he came back with a chipped tooth and wearing this weird bloody yellow bow…”
“Really Reg, you should think about giving him away or cooking him… or something…”
“I would I just… I don’t think it would stick, you know? I think he’d come back…”
Raga thought about this possibility and shivered.
Wynne took the Cowl from Regatta and examined it.
“Why is he bringing back armor, do you think? Are they supposed to be presents for you?”
Regatta looked at Zuckerman, pouting in his brand new cage.
“Noooo… they’re not presents for me. I don’t know what he wants them for.”
“Well… I kinda’ like him.”
Raga and Regatta looked at Wynne. This was a look she was used to getting and did not affect her in the slightest.
“Well you’re the only one.”
Regatta nodded in agreement.
“Heck, Ferine slaps him and glares at him every time he sees him.”
“I wonder why?”
“It’s not hard to guess why Wynne.”
“You mean, maybe Zuckerman stole Ferine’s pants too?”
“No. I think Ferine still has his pants. Though I’m not lifting his robes to find out.”
“Well Reg. What’re we going to do about your pig?”
Regatta thought about it…
“Well. Maybe the cage will work…”
She sighed as she realized what a completely ridiculous statement that was. She was an optomist, but that was taking it a bit far.
“I guess we’re just going to have to wait.”
The three women looked down at the pig in a cage, and cringed when he began to laugh.

Most of the stories I’ll put up for tales for Tuesday will involve Zuckerman, Regatta’s pet pig, so I thought it’d be a good idea to put his origin story up. This is a two-part story, the second part will be posted not next Tuesday (as I am on vacation) but the Tuesday after. :D

Zuckerman the Famous Pig

It’s dark in here, and the air smells of the roasted remains of my family.
It’s too warm, and I’m choking on the smoke.
I hate this place. I never wanted to come here.
I don’t know what her plans are for me. And I’m not sure I want to.
Some days, I’m afraid to even open my eyes. Because I know she’ll be there. Looking at me. Smiling. Her eyes lit up with plans. Which one of those plans is for me? For my inevitable doom?
I hate her. And I hate this place. This is my punishment for defiance. A lifetime trapped in the body of a swine. With a terminally cheerful dead girl as my keeper.
I really should have killed him when I had the chance. I wouldn’t be here now if I had.
*********************
“I don’t think he likes you very much. Let’s roast him and eat him.”
She sighs.
“Borstan, we can’t roast and eat everyone who doesn’t like us.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Well… it’s just not right. Everyone is entitled to their opinion. Besides. I think he’s just shy.”
“Pigs can’t be shy. But they can be delicious if they’re roasted with a nice plum sauce.”
“You know, it’s things like this that are making him so timid. He’s scared you’ll come get him in the middle of the night and he’ll end up as bacon on our breakfast table!”
“He should be bacon on our breakfast table.”
“Zamja likes him. She says he’s got a soul and I shouldn’t let you bully me into eating him.”
“Zamja is imagining things. He’s a pig, and pigs are good eating.”
“Not this pig. This pig is family. Like Tato.”
The Orc sighs and glares at her.
“You’re gonna’ need to pay more in rent if you intend to keep that pig in your rooms.”
“That’s fine. How much do you want?”
He looks hopeful, “75 silver a month?”
“Ok. 75 silver extra a month.”
“I should’ve asked for a gold.”
“But you didn’t. So 75 silver it is.”
She smiles at him. The truth is, Borstan hadn’t accepted any of her coin for 3 months now. Zamja, his wife, had said it was because she was like the dead daughter no one really ought to have. Regatta had decided to take that as a compliment. She felt the same way. Borstan, his wife, and her brother had made her feel welcome, and like family from the very day she came to them to see about renting the rooms.
While at first, they didn’t seem keen to rent to a “deader”, her priestly training made up for it. It wasn’t long before they’d grown fond of her. For her part, she liked them from the very first moment she met them.
But Regatta likes everyone by default.
Borstan poked the pig in the side.
“It’s a shame. He’s nice and meaty…”
The pig looked at him, and if pigs could growl, this one did.
Borstan looked at her.
“No one likes to be poked Borstan.”
He looked back at the pig.
“There’s something that’s not right about that pig Reg.”
“He’s not gonna’ be dinner Borstan and that’s that!!”
“No. No he’s not.”
And it was the way he said it, that made Regatta look at her pig, Zuckerman, and consider what Borstan had said.
The dead girl has her uses. She brings me food, and lets me roll in mud.
And she brings me to distant lands, where I might find some entertainment.
And by entertainment, I mean victims.
She’s asleep now.
And I’m wide awake.
******************************
Doras had just started his shift when the pig walked up the ramp of the wind rider tower.
The pig stopped at his feet and made a kind of snarling noise that pigs ought not to be capable of.
Doras strained his eyes into the darkness waiting for the pig’s owner to walk up.
But an owner never came, and the pig was becoming impatient.
He looked down.
“Yes?”
The pig grunted and gestured, in a strange sort of piggish way, towards the wind riders.
“You want a ride?”
The pig grunted again.
“But… you’re a pig.”
This fact had not escaped the pig’s attention.
“How will you hold the reins?”
The pig had no answer for that, and bit him.
“Ow. What the…”
He stopped short as he watched the pig walk over to the wind rider and kind of shimmy and hop his way on it’s back.
It clamped the reins in its teeth and made a squealing sound that the wind rider took to mean,
“Hit the road buddy.”
As he was taking off, Doras yelled,
“Hey! You have to pay for that!”
The pig made what could only be construed as a rude gesture in response, and was soon out of sight.
Doras stood there in stunned silence and decided that he would need to start drinking right away if he was to get through the rest of his shift.
Regatta woke, as she usually did, in a good mood. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of her bed, and wiggled her toes deep into the fluffy wooly hide that was her rug. Left foot. Wiggle wiggle. Right foot. Wiggle wiggle. Stretch, sigh, smile.
Something caught her eyes.
She looked at the fluffy fresh pile of hay that made up Zuckerman’s bed. She looked at Zuckerman. Something was different… what was it…
And that’s when she saw it.
A small swatch of cloth, under his back leg. She walked over and reached down to look at it more closely.
Zuckerman woke, and his gaze let Regatta know that her examinations were not welcome.
She stepped back confused.
She thought to herself,
“There was blood on that. Could Zuckerman… No… He’s just a little pig… Sure he’s as mean as a bag of pit vipers, but what harm can he really do? Really…”
Zuckerman began to laugh menacingly.
Ok.. well.. he really snorted. But it was very menacing.
Regatta was getting worried.
Zuckerman was even more hostile than he usually was, and he was guarding that scrap of fabric as if his little piggy life depended on it.
Which, of course, only served to make Regatta want it more.
She spent a good part of the morning making a little scrap of fabric to match the one in his little bed. And when he went to make business (read: pee on the doormat in front of the herbalists shop) she struck.
She carefully lifted the small clump of hay that hid the fabric, and pulled it out while substituting her own.
Now, this all seems like it only took a moment. But the reality is, it took a good 10 minutes. Regatta would stop. Listen. And slowly slowly, inch the hay clump up another half-inch. All the while, listening to her own thoughts fight each other.
Rational Mind: “It’s just a pig! What’s he going to do? Squeak you to death?”
Irrational Mind: “Hurryhurryhurryhurry!!!!!!!! Before he comes BACK!!!!!!!!”
Rational Mind: “Who cares if he knows you took his precious piece of fabric? He’s just a pig.”
Irrational Mind: “What was that noise? Was that him? Is he back?!!! Quick! hide! Behind the potted plant!!!!!”
Rational Mind: “He’s a pig! Calm down you silly girl!”
Irrational Mind: “AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!”
By the time she had replaced the piece of hay, just so, and had tucked the small scrap of fabric into her pocket, she was shaking
and covered in sweat. She didn’t even know she could sweat still, and she’d been to some pretty hot places lately. She wiped her hand across her brow and stared at the dampness. She laughed nervously. And jumped about thirty feet in the air when Zuckerman came waddling into the room, quite happy with himself. Regatta would guess, and be right, that he left an extra “gift” on the herbalist shop’s doormat. And she guessed, and she would be right again, that a very angry shop owner would soon be by to have a conversation with her.
“I’m going to go see what Borstan has for breakfast”
She was almost positive he could see through this. But Zuckerman just wandered over to his hay pile and prepared to lay down.
Regatta held her breath.
Would he know? If he did, what would he do?
The pig sniffed at the hay, then flopped down on the pile.
Presently, he began to snore.
Regatta ran from her rooms, and out the front gates of Orgrimmar. She didn’t stop until she was at the Zeppelin tower. She hid behind a bush, and, after checking to make sure a bloodthirsty pet pig wasn’t following her, pulled out the scrap of fabric.
It looked familiar to her.
She would find out why when she heard Raga say,
“Reg. We have to talk about your pig.”

Last night during raid, our non-raid chat channel got to chatting about how amusing it would be if a warlock were to allow their Voidwalker to raise their child. Inspiration struck, and I am left with a ridiculous story about a Voidwalker nanny. Enjoy the fruits of our silliness.

Nanny Voidwalker

Nefaria Dirge was with child. She discovered this quite accidentally while getting patched up by a priest after a particularly nasty summoning spell went awry.

“Oh! Congratulations on your little blessing!”

“What the hell are you talking about you Light addled loon?”

The priest was taken aback. “Well, there’s no need for such coarse language. After all, you don’t want your baby hearing that!”

Nefaria blinked. “What in the nine hells do you mean by ‘baby’? I’m not having a baby!”

“Oh but you are!” The priest placed her hand on Nefaria’s abdomen and smiled as a soft glow began to bloom.

“SHIT!”

“Really Miss Dirge, you will need to keep your language in check…” The priest was beginning to have doubts about Nefaria’s ability to parent.

For what it was worth (nothing) Nefaria already knew she wouldn’t be a good parent, but at the same time, she did worry about what would happen to her should she slip into the Nether without anyone to claim her. A child would be good insurance against an eternity with only demons for company.

So Nefaria set about finding a proper nanny to raise her young. As a Blood Elf of noble birth, she knew that a child could turn out well and happy with minimal parental involvement. Just look at how she turned out! Yes, a nanny would be the best course of action. But finding a suitable nanny was a very big problem.

First she would need to cut the undesirables. No Forsaken. No one wants a corpse raising a child. Besides, the long-term effects of being exposed to someone who was held together with stitches and willpower was unknown. Nefaria would be damned if her child would be used as a test subject for anyone but her.

No orcs either. Their blood lust was barely in check and they had a tendency toward density that she found unnerving. No one wants a stupid child. No Tauren. She found their strong resemblance to cattle distracting, and they were way too soft of the heart to be bearable.

Trolls then? No. Never. Just… Ugh. That unpleasant thought was quickly pushed out of her mind as she finally decided to put in inquires in Silvermoon City. She would look to her own people to raise her child, since she was too busy and too disinterested to do it herself.

“All right Miss…what does this say? Your handwriting is atrocious. You know what? This isn’t going to work. I don’t want my child to clutch a quill as if it were a turkey leg. Leave.”

“Mr. Sunspear? No. I hate your face. Leave now before I hit you.”

“Miss. Dawnhelm? Why do you keep blinking so much? This won’t work. I can’t stand being blinked at.”

“…you breathe too loudly.”

“…you smell wet.”

“I know the economy is bad, but I did say “No Taurens”. Your gown, while lovely, is not fooling anyone. I don’t even want to know where you got that blond wig. Also, you’re too hippy for that skirt.”

“Good bye.”

“Leave.”

“GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!!!”

Nefaria sighed. Is everyone here woefully under qualified to raise a child? No wonder the Blood Elf population was in decline. She felt the baby give a small kick. Blinking in irritation, she was struck with a brilliant idea.

She reached into a jar on her shelf and pulled out a shimmering purple stone. Holding it in both hand, she bowed her head and mumbled a few words under her breath. The stone evaporated in a cloud of brackish mist, and the room became preternaturally still.

WHY DO YOU CALL?

“Don’t you take on that tone with me! I am your mistress and you will speak to me with respect Tangtast!”

The Voidwalker sighed, if that was even possible.

AS YOU WISH.

“I have a job for you Tangtast. A Job only the most obedient of my minions could carry out. I need you to raise my child.”

This revelation was greeted with a stunned silence.

“I’m serious! I’m not the mothering type, in fact, I have a great disdain for anyone and anything that isn’t me. But, in the interest of self-preservation, I have allowed this child to live and gestate within my body. At no small cost to myself I assure you. However, that is where my mothering ends. I don’t want some leaky sub-elf hanging on my skirts. This is where you come in. You will deal with the leaky sub-elf.”

She was quite pleased with her brilliant idea.

SEND ME BACK!

“Absolutely not! Your job is to do what I tell you. And what I am telling you to do is to raise my child to adulthood!”

I DON’T LIKE THIS PLACE.

“Well I don’t care. Tangtast, you will raise my child or so help me you will spend an eternity in a jar filled with pickled boar nose.”

IF I MUST.

“You must.”

The Voidwalker visibly sagged in resignation. He was sure he was not cut out for motherhood.

(I think we will be seeing more of poor put upon Tangtast's adventures in raising children.)

I thought it might be a hoot to put up a tale of Regatta (or my other characters) every Tuesday to keep me blogging, and to keep my writing muscles (located just above the snark gland) toned.

So for your pleasure, a story written not too long ago, about Regatta reuniting with her fiance from her life.

Sentimental Journey
“I couldn’t quite believe it when I heard the name. But here you are.”
Regatta looked up, the voice was familiar, yet different. Hollow and empty, lacking something.. something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
She turned. She squinted her eyes and tried to place the voice.
He lifted the helm from his head, and looked at her, with his shy half lidded gaze.
There was no sharp intake of breath, no sign of surprise. It seemed to make sense to her, that this is what would become of them. She felt the first pangs of self-pity, followed by self loathing. How dare she feel bad for herself?
“John…”
“I was hoping you’d still remember me.”
“Why would I forget?”
“Well, you have a new life now, new things.. new name..”
“It’s an old name. I’ve always been Regatta, just.. not to you.”
He laughed, and it was as cold and hollow as the ice caves in the Stormpeaks.
They stood there staring at each other for a long time.
“I’m sure you have much to do…” He turned then, with a disappointed frown.
“Not really, no.” He looked back at her, and she smiled.
“You know John, it’s very rare to have someone in your life who has known you since you were small. But they’re great to have. They help bridge the gap, from your old life, to your new one. Childhood, to adulthood. Life, to Death.”
He leaned in close to her and put dry, cold lips to her cheek.
He whispered, “Would you be my bridge, Regina?”
But what she heard were the words he’d spoken, only a few years earlier, so painfully far away…
“Would you be my bride, Regina?”
And her answer was the same.
“Of course.”
A letter a day keeps the blues away.
Regatta dragged a surly and resistant Zuckerman through the streets of Dalaran. He pulled and tugged, but she won. She’d gotten stronger, and that bothered him. But it pleased her.
“*grumble mumble* Zuckerman! Cooperate! Gods….” An extra fierce yank and he was tumbling into her ankles. She sighed and blew an errant strand of hair off of her forehead.
“You’re a miserable lout, you know that?”
He looked up at her, pleased.
She rolled her eyes and reached a hand into the mailbox.
“Not for me, not for me, not for me, For me…Auction House.. nice… not for me, not for me, not for me…Hello? What’s this?”
In an elegant script that was unfamiliar to her, she saw her name. “Priestess Regina Regatta DeBlanc”
She opened it, and didn’t bother to contain her smile.
“Dearest Regina,
I hope this letter finds you well.
I know you’re quite busy, so I won’t steal too much of your time, but I do hope to see you soon.
Perhaps you will be in Icecrown to continue your work? Or, I could come to you?
Let me know, won’t you?
Ever,
John”
She covered her smile with her hand, and laughed softly.
Apparently, he was looking to court her all over again.
She was quite sure he’d be successful.
The stairs to her rooms seemed too steep, and too narrow tonight. It felt like ages to the top, and the door when she got there, weighed far more then it had this morning when she’d left. It took everything she had in her to push it open.
It was dark, but she knew her way around well. She settled her bags on the floor in a heap, set her book of prayers on the table, the old and warped pages rustling softly as they settled. Set her mace next to it, and began to remove her armor.
The cumbersome wrappings, the heavy shoulders, her gloves, and bracers, embroidered runes glowing faintly in the dark.
She sat on the edge of the bed and began to remove her boots. She winced at the rustle of sheets. His hand touched her waist, and she could feel a little chill through the cloth.
“You sound tired.”
Even his whispers echoed.
“I am. Very long night. But we all came out of it all right. Little mending to do, but we’re all in one piece. Mostly. Did I wake you?”
She wrenched a foot free and dropped the boot to the floor, no longer worrying about waking him.
“No. I just laid down. Your pig and I played chess.”
She lifted her head. Zuckerman plays chess? I bet he cheats.
“Did you win?”
He laughed.
“No. He cheats.”
She dropped her other boot.
“I thought he might. He cheats at all games.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Nothing surprises you.” She turned to him, “I find it really odd, and, actually quite creepy that you two get along so well.”
“Why is that disturbing?”
“Because he’s a bastard, that’s why. He’s a mean, surly bastard.”
“Then why do you keep him?”
“Because he’s my mean, surly bastard.”
“That makes complete sense.”
He sat up and put his forehead to the back of her neck.
“Are you ready for bed yet?”
“In a minute. I have to wash the blood off.”
He nodded, and kissed the back of her neck.
“Tomorrow, you have no duties? No chores?”
“Not a thing. Just lazy bliss.”
“Then we don’t need to sleep right away.”
She reached her hand up and tangled her fingers in his hair.
“I suppose we don’t.”